


Blood Loss

by bluesyturtle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesyturtle/pseuds/bluesyturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Meet-cute:</b> a term sometimes used to describe a situation in film, television, etc. in which a future romantic couple meets for the first time in a way that is considered adorable, entertaining, or amusing (Wikipedia).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Loss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justbreathe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe/gifts).



> _And I'll tell you when it's over/I'll tell you when you can leave/I'll tell you when you cried long enough/Til your blood fills my cup/My footsteps, they hung in your hallways enough/For you to be truly haunted/Baby, by me_
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> Froideass for Drake. <3

Tobias has a dinner date with Kiran at eight, which doesn’t go well. They’ll have been separated for two months on the twenty fifth. He’s not counting, but he can’t help that he remembers even if he doesn’t care.

Kiran is delicate with him, more so than he needs to be. It’s absurd, the whole thing; sitting in this high-end restaurant with his ex like everything’s fine, like they didn’t have it out on Christmas Eve , and like they didn’t say unfortunate, though not regrettable things to each other. Kiran with his dark olive complexion and constantly ruddy cheeks, Kiran with his pale blue-grey eyes, Kiran telling him it’s great things are going so well at the shop.

And Tobias wants to murder him for having the gall to look so handsome and genuinely forgiving after what Tobias said to him. He wants to put the steak knife on his plate right through the soft spot beneath his chin because he doesn’t understand it or why he should want to understand it.

He makes polite enough conversation during their meal and cuts the throat of the cab driver on the way home.

Kiran calls him just as he’s getting back to the shop to make sure he made it okay. Tobias tells him he’s great and washes the blood out from underneath his fingernails as they say goodnight.

He buys a ticket to the opera house the following week as something of a joke. Yes, the music is delightful; yes, the crowd will be amusing; yes, he may even find someone to take home for a reason, as yet, to be determined.

There is, however, the matter of the intestinal ribbons sitting downstairs in his shop. He’d been looking to get his hands on them for nearly a month now. He could bleach the ribbons in time for the show. The salt solution will have killed the bacteria clinging to the gut by then.

Extracting the gut itself from the cab driver that night was a kind of joke in its own right as he hadn’t really planned on following through with the string idea until tonight. It was much colder outside when he’d killed the man and dumped the body in an unmemorable alleyway. The weather had already warmed up considerably and left him wondering if his initial decision to credit his kill with a distinguishable M.O. was a mistake after all.

He’d heard it said before that if a man changes the way he kills every time he does it, no one can ever find him. If there’s no trail, no pattern to discern from the madness, there’s no way to track the action back to its source.

He wouldn’t be able to take the gut again, not for a while.

It’s at the penultimate showing of Rusalka that he notices someone, catches sight of him lurking nervously in the lobby during the intermission. He’s bearded but in a way that suggests strict maintenance rather than sloth, and he’s stout but in a way that suggests he has always been slightly round through the middle.

If Tobias killed him, maybe he would scream or beg or cry. Maybe he would try to reason with him.

He decides to introduce himself.

“Tobias Budge.”

“Oh, Franklyn,” he says, somewhere in between stammering and gushing. “Froidevaux.”

They shake hands. Franklyn Froidevaux’s hands are clammy, but his grip is strong and enthusiastic.

“Great, isn’t it,” Franklyn half chuckles when Tobias just stares at him for a few moments. He gestures feebly at an artistic advert for Rusalka. “Dvořák is great; a great composer, really, just—” He swallows compulsively when Tobias doesn’t interject, doesn’t do anything to save him from talking circles around himself. Somewhat self-deprecatingly, as if he knows he’s made a fool of himself for floundering, he adds weakly, “Even if the performance _is_ in Czech of all languages.”

Tobias finally takes mercy on him.

“You don’t speak it?”

“I would be genuinely surprised if anyone here did.” Franklyn chortles good-naturedly, panning his gaze about the bustling, but quiet lobby. He pales slightly and quickly says, “Oh, unless you speak it. Do you speak it?”

Tobias does not. He watches Franklyn for a slow count of three before saying as much. Franklyn is all nerves tonight. Tobias clocks the sweating hands, the very subtle facial tics like his clenching, unclenching jaw, and the fingers Franklyn is tapping on his leg, less subtly. The man deflates slightly upon finally receiving Tobias’ answer.

It’s an awful lot of fun torturing him. One might think Franklyn Froidevaux was actually _invested_ in Tobias’ interaction with him. While that added advantage would make things far more entertaining, Tobias is rather certain the man exudes anxiety and faint desperation in most or all social situations no matter how ordinary.

He narrows his eyes at the man, only half listening to his excited rant about the lead actress and her incredible voice. Every once in a while Tobias catches Franklyn searching his face intently, as if for a response he can use to carry the conversation toward a topic Tobias will want to discuss with him. It’s slightly more than polite and slightly less than a last ditch effort to converse with _anyone_ purely for the sake of being sociable.

Franklyn wants to impress him; maybe even just _wants_ him.

Franklyn with the perpetually round middle and the neatly trimmed beard and the bright, eager eyes; Franklyn who is so easy to read and even easier to predict in his simple but expensive suit; Franklyn whose eyes drop to Tobias’ mouth twice in a span of five minutes; Franklyn who laughs at himself when Tobias won’t; he _wants._

It takes a moment for Tobias to really decide, but once he does it becomes glaringly obvious. Franklyn is something of a conundrum as he appears to function within a simultaneously defeatist and optimistic mindset. He carries himself carefully but with a reckless air as though his most closely guarded secrets have all come to light but that he still must fight to keep himself hidden from the danger of it.

It’s a funny combination that actually earns a smile from Tobias. It coincides with a banal joke Franklyn has told him that, of course, sends the smaller man into a beaming conglomerate of low laughter, eye crinkling smiles, and a deliriously marked bottom lip.

His eye crinkling smile is not his default smile. He doesn’t bite his lip the same way when he’s laughing as he does when he’s nervous. Tobias knows because he starts doing it the nervous way once he notices Tobias studying his mouth.

It isn’t the right kind of nervous, not the kind he can exploit. He doesn’t think it is, anyway, until Franklyn’s eyes dart toward the wall and then fall to his black, polished shoes. Tobias would call it regret or frustration or maybe insecurity, but then he sees Franklyn’s jaw working in profile. He sees him shaking his head just a little to himself and wiping his palms on his pleated slacks.

Oh, Franklyn Froidevaux. He’s _ashamed._

And Tobias, he can _exploit_ shame.

He takes two steps toward him, feigning ignorance to Franklyn’s internal crisis and effectively destroys the foot of space between them. Their height difference means Tobias has to angle his head a ways look at Franklyn once he’s right beside him. He touches the inside of Franklyn’s elbow as he gets closer and doesn’t react to the startled flinch he is awarded when he murmurs Franklyn’s name in question. His voice rumbles softly in a lower register than it would in normal speech. Franklyn notices as much immediately, if his red ears and neck are anything to measure by.

For a few moments, Franklyn only stutters nonsensically about the intermission ending soon and where did Tobias sit because Franklyn has an extra ticket he may use if he wants to sit together for the second act and would Tobias want to sit with him for the second act anyway the whole thing is in Czech after all and none of us speak Czech it’s so ridiculous but then I guess there are subtitles aren’t there that’s nice subtitles are good so what do you think then an extra ticket.

Tobias only just keeps his confusion from finding his face. His fingers squeeze once on Franklyn’s arm, and Franklyn roots around in an inside jacket pocket for the aforementioned ticket and passes it off shakily to Tobias. They stand for a moment in mutual befuddlement. Each of them stares at the ticket in Tobias’ hand.

They go in for the second half of the show, and Tobias ignores the English subtitles and he ignores Franklyn’s doubtful glances and he ignores the single vibration of his phone in his pocket that is probably Kiran texting or calling him. It isn’t a loud enough noise to draw the attention of the other members of the audience, so he leaves it to vibrate a few more times against his leg, definitely a phone call. The buzz that follows about twenty seconds later indicates a new voicemail, and then his phone is silent for the rest of the night.

On the stage a devastated-looking woman sings, rotund in both pitch and figure, as a prophecy of doom and destruction comes to light and leaves her damned. Tobias finally checks for Franklyn’s reaction and finds him enraptured with the proceedings, also ignoring the subtitles in favor of watching the actors. He turns to acknowledge Tobias’ stare and sort of freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. He tries for a smile, but what occurs is more of a grimace.

Tobias wonders if it’s more worth his time to try and humiliate this man or to seduce him. The weight and shape of his phone in his pocket reminds him that he can do either with no repercussions from Kiran or anyone else.

Maybe Franklyn would object, but that would just be the name of the game, mission accomplished.

He can’t gauge off appearances alone how long it would take to break him. He can’t say whether manipulative kindness would be a stronger weapon or if intimacy could be a better tool.

They’re among the last to leave the opera house. Franklyn grazes the back of Tobias’s hand with one knuckle and then yanks his hand away, petrified but bold enough not to drop his eyes when Tobias looks at him. He blinks rapidly and licks his lips but doesn’t speak or move.

Humiliation would be so easy. It would be _so_ easy.

Tobias raises his chin and touches Franklyn’s hand back just enough for the touch to register. The man shivers, swallows compulsively, and nods once, perhaps to himself.

Franklyn asks if Tobias would like to go for drinks, and Tobias says yes. He decides humiliation would be bland.

They go to their separate cars and reconvene at a bar about ten minutes out from the opera house. Franklyn gets there before Tobias and already has a beer cradled in his hand at a corner table. Tobias orders one to match him, and Franklyn starts up conversation before too long.

He tells Tobias all about his book, the one two years in the making that he might be brave enough to publish sometime in the summer if the editing phase is completed by then. Franklyn’s eyes light up and his cheeks flush red when Tobias asks him what it’s about. He listens closely, knowing that memorization of these types of details will benefit him later if he wants to get anywhere with this nervous wreck of a man.

He thinks he might like to get somewhere with him after all.

Franklyn drinks a bit more than would be advisable, so Tobias drives them in Franklyn’s blue Hyundai Sonata back to his brownstone apartment not ten minutes out from the Lyric Opera House. Franklyn opens the door immediately but waits for Tobias to get out of the car and follow him up the stairs of the front stoop.

“Do you want to—I mean, it’s not like this was a proper date or anything, but it was so nice having drinks and getting to know you,” Franklyn says earnestly. Tobias can see that his eyes are very brown in the orange light falling in slats across his face from the streetlamp on the sidewalk.

He’s a bit like Kiran, Tobias realizes, frowning suddenly at the likeness that isn’t at all physical but that exists so starkly that it may as well be. Franklyn notices his dour expression and his own falters.

“Sorry, did I…Oh, are you not…Oh, God. Listen, it was my mistake. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just, I thought, well, we had such a good time, didn’t we?” He stammers a bit desperately, “Look, we can forget about it, okay? It’s fine…it’s…”

Not fine, apparently.

Not really the specific brand of meltdown that Tobias likes either. The whole episode is restrained, something Franklyn has had happen to him before. Tobias, in spite of himself, is a little impressed with the man’s self-control. Of course, the man speaks quite too much when he’s nervous for Tobias to really call it discipline, but he isn’t showing the full extent of his disappointment or his mortification either.

He thinks it would be something of a challenge to make it hurt enough that Franklyn couldn’t tamp down the pain. He thinks really unraveling Franklyn Froidevaux, a deceptively unraveled man already, would be quite the conquest.

He likes games.

“I’m not interested in women, if that’s your concern,” Tobias reassures him gently. He furrows his eyebrows a bit when Franklyn looks up at him with the intention of conveying confusion. A bit hysterically, but only a bit, he reasons, “I tried to hold your hand outside the opera house.”

Startled by Tobias’ outburst, which is a logical reaction seeing as he’s been flat for the majority of the night, Franklyn huffs a soft, breathless laugh.

He says, “Really.”

And honesty, what Franklyn perceives to be honesty, makes him brave. It makes his voice lilt slightly with flirtatious confidence that Tobias _likes_ because it’s art over the blank canvas of Franklyn’s fear and because it’s sweet music over the clattering din of his insecurity. 

Brave, emboldened, flirtatious Franklyn Froidevaux, he sees that Tobias _likes._

Maybe he even lets himself believe that he could want the way Franklyn wants. Maybe he feels something like that warm rising feeling that Kiran always tried to explain to him in the beginning before finally giving up as Tobias knew he would. Maybe he feels it a little bit because his skin looks warmer than it did in the bar and his eyes look impossibly trusting and free, and the openness Tobias saw in them before, the blatant expressiveness, it pales in comparison.

Tobias says, “Yes.” Tobias steps in closer. “Really.”

He can hear the whoosh of Franklyn’s breath stealing out of his lips, slightly parted and exposing four white teeth just beneath one burgundy upper lip. Tobias hears him swallow, but his bravery hasn’t abandoned him. He steps away from the door that will sequester him from this man that will someday destroy him; he steps away from safety and salvation and survival, and he steps into Tobias’ space, swallowing again, thickly.

“Just like I ‘tried’ to kiss you in the opera house.”

Tobias doesn’t think Franklyn did actually try to kiss him in the opera house, which is, perhaps, the point he is attempting to make. He smirks, entertained at the likelihood that that is exactly what Franklyn meant to do.

“I could do more than try,” Tobias warns, slipping his fingers up Franklyn’s waistcoat.

He notices Franklyn lost the jacket to his suit somewhere and chides himself for not noticing sooner. The man must have shed it prior to entering the bar, maybe to look more casual or maybe to be more comfortable. Tobias doesn’t know which state Franklyn would prioritize: appearance or comfort.

Franklyn’s resolve wavers. He bites his lip, the nervous way, and peers conspicuously around Tobias to the street. It’s empty at this time of night, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“We could go inside,” Tobias suggests lightly, wanting to take that kiss from Franklyn just because it would embarrass the hell out of him and because it would be nice to be kissed by someone different after Kiran and all their time apart.

“You want to come in,” Franklyn says, more a stunned observation than a genuine invitation.

Too much too soon will bring an abrupt end to whatever it is they could possibly have in the future if Tobias waits, if Tobias persists, if Franklyn cooperates with his efforts.

“Better if we don’t rush,” Tobias says softly, withdrawing his hand from Franklyn’s waistcoat. Offering up his one point of vulnerability, he confesses, “I’ve just come out of a serious relationship.”

“Oh.” Franklyn’s tone is reverent. “Were you looking for something…more temporary?”

“No.”

They reach a standstill in their dialogue. If Franklyn wants something permanent, he will have to admit as much now; if he wants something temporary, they can go inside. He only has to accept that his modesty is the only thing keeping them on the wrong side of the door to the brownstone.

Hoarsely but with a set determination, he says, “Me neither.”

For a moment Tobias thinks he might invite him up anyway, conventions and niceties be damned. Franklyn reaches up for the back of Tobias’ neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

He’s warm and smells of spice and hints of citrus. Tobias only just begins to press back when Franklyn is pulling away from him, taking his body heat and the aromatic medley of cedar and balsam with him. He says, breathlessly, “I hope you’ll call me.”

Tobias hums and tells him yes.

Franklyn licks his lips but doesn’t back away just yet. He hasn’t quite managed to catch his breath.

“Goodnight, Tobias.”

He can hear his heart racing in his chest if he strains to listen for it. He can hear it pounding and skipping and aching with the inevitable promise of pain that comes with this type of arrangement.

“Goodnight, Franklyn.”

Franklyn slips into the apartment after fumbling with the key for a moment. Tobias walks back toward the bar to pick up his Camry, hands buried in his pockets and mind wandering to the woods and all of the smells and sights and sounds to be found there.

He navigates back to the shop and quickly bleaches the gut before heading home. Kiran’s voicemail is promptly deleted. Tobias makes a note to call Franklyn the following day and goes to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title by the Horrible Crowes.


End file.
